


Bruised

by libbertyjibbit



Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Frottage, M/M, Mild Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-20
Updated: 2018-10-20
Packaged: 2019-08-04 22:29:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16355456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/libbertyjibbit/pseuds/libbertyjibbit
Summary: Fighting a dragon is a grueling business, and results in more than a few aches and pains. But not all bruises are unwelcome.





	Bruised

Alistair thinks his body will never be normal again. The fight with the high dragon ("How hard can it be?" Aedan had asked, completely serious. "We've seen worse." And like bloody idiots they'd agreed) had been long and grueling, and Alistair is pretty sure that that his bruises have bruises. 

Still, he'd fared better than Wynne. He glances to the other side of the clearing, where both Leliana and Aedan are fussing over her while Sten hovers close by, face stern. The only one who seems unconcerned is Morrigan, but then she doesn't really like anyone but Aeden. 

Alistair sighs, and looks away. He wants to fuss, but Wynne is irritably slapping at Aedan and Leliana's hands and making acerbic comments about little old ladies and knitting, so he figures he best keep his distance if he doesn't want a lashing from her surprisingly sharp tongue. Instead he nabs an injury kit from Aedan's pack and steps into his tent. He'll do his fussing tomorrow, when it will be more appreciated. 

He'd foolishly hoped that things weren't as bad as they felt, but it isn't until he gets off his heavy armor that he realizes that they are worse. He is black and blue all over. His armor had prevented any broken bones, thank the Maker, but it had hardly protected him from receiving any damage at all. He begins applying salve with a wince. 

Some time later, the tent flap rustles, and Aedan slides in. He smells of herbs and the slightly burnt tinge that Morrigan's clumsy healing magic always carries, and Alistair pushes down the urge to check him over and make sure that she hadn't done anything harmful. She  _likes_  him, he reminds himself. Likes him more than anyone else here. She won't hurt him. 

Aedan smiles at him. "Need a little help?" he asks. He reaches out and takes the kit from Alistair's hands. "You're back looks like hell. I'll take care of it."

Alistair drops his head forward, sighing as Aedan's hands smooth the salve over his abused flesh. Warmth spreads through him at the touch and he slumps forward, suddenly more exhausted than ever. Aedan gives a soft laugh and steers him towards his bedroll, following him down so that he can continue smoothing his hands down his back, taking aches and bruises alike as he goes. 

"Oh," he says suddenly, and Alistair opens his eyes - when had he closed them? - and turns over to peer blearily at him. Aedan's eyes are fixed somewhere near the juncture of his neck and shoulder. He reaches out and touches, pressing down, and Alistair feels a shivery sort of pain flare through him. It feels different from the others, an odd pleasure mixed in with the pain, though he can't imagine why. 

"Wha-?" he starts, and then remembers. That morning, sliding lazily against each other, Alistair's hand moving. Aeden biting down to muffle his cries as he came. He feels his face heat up. "Oh. Um."

Aedan smiles. He dips his fingers into the salve. "I'll take care of it," he says, reaching toward Alistair's neck. 

Alistair grabs his wrist, stopping him. "Leave it. I, uh...ilikeit."

Aedan's eyes light up. "Really?" he asks. He leans forward and carefully fits his mouth to that spot. Bites down. 

That shivery pain goes through him again and Alistair gives a small gasp. "Yes," he says, and Aedan shifts so that he lies fully on top of him, Alistair's legs parting easily to let him settle between them. 

"You like it," he says. "You want me to mark you up." He pushes Alistair's arms over his head and holds them there with one hand around his wrists. "You want me to hold you down."

" _Yes_ ," Alistair says on a moan, arching up. "Maker, yes."

"I want to," Aedan says, rocking against him. "I want to do everything you want. I want to make you _scream_ ."

"Oh, yes, please." Alistair knows this will embarrass him later; the things that they say when they’re like this always do, after, but right now all he cares about is the way that Aedan feels against him, the way that their bodies are sliding together, creating perfect friction between them. He squirms, testing Aedan's grip, loving it when he tightens his hold in response. "Make me, make me, oh, please." 

Aedan reaches between them and runs a finger just behind his balls, then lower, and Alistair's body jerks. They haven't done this; whenever they have energy and time for it it's been Aedan on the receiving end. That doesn’t mean that Alistair hasn't thought of it, however, and the idea of Aedan having him, holding him down as he is now and just _taking_ what he wants - what they both want -  has his eyes rolling back in his head, hips jerking up harder and harder until they both shudder to completion. Aedan bites into Alistair's shoulder again, muffling his cry of release, but of course it does nothing to stifle Alistair's own moans as he shakes against him. He doesn't care. Let them hear. Let them know what Aedan does to him. The thought sends a spark of unexpected pleasure along his nerves, and he gasps, twitching. 

Aedan rolls off of him with a soft sigh, tugging his hands down. There are red marks on his wrists from how tightly he was holding them. Aedan brings them to his mouth and lays gentle kisses along the marks he's made. Alistair shivers. 

"You'll have more bruises," Aedan says, tone soft. "I could-"

"No," Alistair says, lacing their fingers together. "No. Leave them. I want them there." He wishes that the fighting were over; that the Blight and Loghain were dealt with and peace was reigning once more so that the only marks he ever need wear would be Aedan's. Perhaps one day. Until then, there is this: the warmth of Aedan's body, the soft sound of his breathing as it slides towards sleep, and the wonderful, aching imprints of his mouth and hands on Alistair's body. It's enough.


End file.
